The place was still. Silent. Once the story was finished, her words carried out into the coffee shop, breathing new life into the once dilapidated structure. The cavity in the roof was gone, and more color had come back to the place. The fireplace was rebuilt, but no warm flame greeted them yet. The walls, now a deep, rich mahogany, seemed to pulse gently, as if the building itself was breathing. Light filtered in through newly cleaned windows, casting soft, golden hues across the room.

  Two back doors, previously unnoticed, had reappeared in the former unused hall facing each other. The door on the left of the hall was adorned with intricate carvings of celestial bodies; the wood seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow as if the night sky was trapped within its grain. It radiated a sense of calm and mystery, leading to a place where the stars whispered ancient secrets.

  By contrast, the door on the right was draped in vines that gently swayed in an unseen breeze. The vines occasionally flowered, emitting a faint, otherworldly fragrance that filled the air with the scent of distant memories and forgotten dreams. This door exuded a vibrant energy, suggesting a passage to a realm where nature and magic intertwined in harmony. Miss T. leaned back, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “The more we tell stories, the more the coffee shop will remember itself.”

  Four was the number now. Miss T. placed four glasses on the counter and refilled the coffee maker with beans as she had done once before. In a short moment, the coffee was ready, but Miss T. stared at the glasses, hesitantly.

  “What’s wrong, Miss T.?” asked Mister D., also eyeing the glasses with an eager, almost impatient gaze.

  “I’m sorry to make you wait, but these drinks simply won’t do.” She gathered up the drinks and set them near the sink. Yes, she knew this wasn’t right. The moment called for more, for something special. She reached underneath the counter and pulled out one sealed jar and two containers. She had overlooked them, forgotten that they existed. But her hands now moved with a sense of remembrance.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Ah, so that’s what she was doing,” Mister D. murmured, nudging the Winter Warden. “The days of black coffee are over.” They both sighed deeply. Miss T. couldn’t help but roll her eyes and continue her work, her back turned to the two of them.

  Holding the jar for a moment, she realized it was perpetuating a chill. She brought the jar up to her ear, listening intently. Almost instantly, as if the jar had shouted at her, she knew what to do. Kissing the top of the lid and knocking twice, she waited with stretched arms. A moment later, the jar’s lid unspun itself, releasing the contents to her. She smiled, pleased that the sense and nature of her abilities came far quicker to her now.

  In quick succession, the two containers also opened similarly. Inside the perpetually chilled bottle was milk from a rare and mythical animal. She had not seen or heard its name in many years. Zebra milk. After pouring the milk in, she reached back to the first container, scooping out powdered Summer’s Evening. A mixture of ideas and spices that gave way to one’s fondest summer memories. She quickly moved to the last container with only one scoop for each drink so as not to overpower it. No drink was complete without the fundamental base element.

  “All coffee drinks require sugar!” Miss T. said over her shoulder with a slight smirk.

  “That is categorically false and you know it,” Mister D. responded, pulling at his beard in mock agitation. “Some of us still like a simple black cup of joe, Miss T.”

  “Everyone’s a critic until they taste the magic,” she said, turning to face them as she added the final touch.

  In one desperate protest, Mister D. huffed. “Think about the children,” he exclaimed, gesturing to his clockwork son. “Who will teach Bastion how to drink a proper cup of coffee if it’s filled with sugar and shit?”

  The Winter Warden chuckled in his chest, removed a gauntlet, and playfully shoved at Mister D.

  With the final ingredient placed in the drinks, each beverage began to swirl and sparkle with opposing colors. Dark brown twisted inside of a white foggy base. The tiny swirls never ceased, even when not being held.

  “Father’s Choice, gents,” she said, sliding the drinks over to each immortal. They clinked their glasses for a toast.

  Whatcha think? Would you order a Father's Choice at your local brew hop?

  Father's Choice a go (as long as the zebra milk is ethically sourced, of course).

  ~ CW